


A Lament in Two Voices

by ausmac



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 03:39:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7874767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausmac/pseuds/ausmac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to my story "Risen"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Varian absently twisted the stem of the wine glass between his thumb and finger, watching the crimson liquid distort within the crystal.  He raised it and took a sip, recognising the vintage as one he’d enjoyed before, and emptied the glass in a single swallow.   Can I get drunk now, he wondered, and then felt the mild burn as it hit his empty stomach.  _It seems so._ It was tempting to pour another glass to confirm it, and as much as seeking oblivion in the wine might appeal, he knew it wasn’t a wise idea. 

He ran one hand absently over the deep red velvet sleeve of his tunic, the gold and black metallic braid on the sleeve flashing in the light.  Over the years he’d grown accustomed to wearing heavy armour; he’d  often been called to fight at a moment’s notice and in time he’d hardly noticed its bulk and weight.  The Dark Lady had left him the choice of what to wear, deeming it a personal matter.  For some reason he’d selected something less restrictive.  Change for its own sake, perhaps.  Or simply because he wasn’t ready to take up a sword.

Not cowardice, he thought, deciding finally on another glass of wine.    _I’ll fight when I need to.  Right now, I don’t need to._

“Varian.”

He glanced across the table.  “Apologies,  I was distracted.”

She nodded, slicing delicately into her meat.  “I realise that.  You need to eat something.  Wine won’t sustain you.”  Using a silver dual-pronged fork, she raised the fine sliver of meat to her mouth and he watched her eat, fascinated despite himself.  He’d just never thought of Undead eating.  He looked down at his plate and hesitated.  Bread, he decided, bread was safe.  So he took up one of the crusty rolls, still warm from the oven, cracked it in half and bit into it.  _Well, it tastes like bread._ The thought made him smile.  _What else_ should _it taste like..?_

“That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile.  And all for a piece of bread.  Remarkable.”

“I suppose because it’s such a normal everyday sort of thing.  I haven’t experienced a lot of the normal everyday lately.”

She considered his answer, and nodded.  “That I can understand. “  She pursed her lips, appeared to consider the wine, then gave a brief negative head shake.  “ Tomorrow I will meet with other Horde leaders in Orgirmmar. Will you attend me?”

He broke the other half of the roll into small pieces.  “If you wish.  They may not welcome my being there.”

“They need not welcome it, only accept it.  I am Warchief, I do not need their approval.”

“You should know this, Lady, when you consider involving me in your plans, “ he said quietly, as he dusted flour from his fingers, “I will not raise my hand against the Alliance.  I won’t betray you to them and I will offer advice and whatever else I may give against the Burning Legion and any other enemies as you may direct – but not against my own people. “

“And if at some future date they should threaten you?” she said, and softly added, “Or me?”

He shrugged.  “Allow me time to adjust to how the world is for me now.  And assume that my sense of personal honour didn't die with me.”

He sensed that his answer wasn’t everything she wished for, but she seemed to accept that it was as much as he could give just then.  She continued to chew her food, her ruby gaze thoughtful.  For some reason they didn’t seem strange to him anymore, those gleaming blood red eyes.  Her face was a lot more expressive than he remembered, or perhaps his perceptions had shifted.  And despite himself, despite what she’d done to him – or for him – she continued to fascinate him.  She was personally fearless, totally dedicated to her people’s welfare and future, and those things were worthy of respect.  However, she was also capable of duplicity, and of terrible acts.  Her treatment of Gilneas was a case in point.  Could he ever really trust her? 

But once, she’d been an elf ranger, before the Lich King tortured, killed and turned her into a banshee. And despite what she was, _who she was,_ she was undeniably lovely.  She moved like a dream, graceful and deadly.  As if his unblinking study bothered her, she stood abruptly and went to the fireplace and took down a lyre hanging above the fireplace.  She sat in one of the armchairs, settled both slender legs up into the seat and strummed the lyre, tuning the strings and humming, watching him with her hooded scarlet eyes.  Varian collected his glass and went to the other chair across from her, arranging the unfamiliar robes around himself as he sat.

She watched him still as she set the lyre against her shoulder and began to sing.  He recognised the opening eerie minor chords.  It was the Thellasian Lament of the Highborne .

 _Anar’alah, Anar’alah, belore,_ By the light, by the light of sun _Sin'dorei, Shindu fallah na_ Children of the Blood, our enemies are breaking through…  a song of loss and defeat, of the destruction of their beloved Sunwell, sung in her perfect, haunting voice.

He wasn’t sure where the unexpected desire to protect her came from.  Perhaps it was the wistful sadness in the song, or the way her gaze went distant, focusing somewhere beyond him to a time when she’d walked under the Sun she’d worshipped, a free, strong champion of her people.  Could he, walking in her steps, have kept going forward as she had?  He liked to think so, but who could say for sure.  And if she could survive what she had and refused to go down into the dark, then he could do no less.

She sang laments to him as the night waned and the fire died down to ashes.

 

* * * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

It was entertaining, watching the Horde watching Varian.

Their arrival at Orgrimmar had caused something of a stir.  Her mage had teleported them into the square before Grommash Hold, by her specific order.  She’d been curious to see how both Varian and the members of her Horde would react to his sudden appearance amongst them.

The arrival of a party from Undercity was not, in itself, unusual.  But there was a continual stream of double-takes as individuals recognised Varian.  Orcs, in particular, were fascinated.  They would see him, stop dead in their tracks, and then back up to check if their initial observation had been a correct one.

He took it very well, neither ignoring them nor offering any sort of challenge in his demeanour.  Even when some of the Orcs stood right in front of him and looked down from their superior height.   And the one she’d anticipated had seemed particularly affected.

High Overlord Varok Saurfang  had been attending meetings with his Orc commanders in Orgrimmar when their arrival was announced, and he’d stepped outside the Hold as they appeared.  He’d started to welcome his Warchief when his eyes lighted on Varian and he froze in mid-sentence.  His mouth dropped open though she was impressed to note he didn’t even touch the axe hanging from his belt as he trod forward to stop a weapons-length from Varian.

The two warriors looked each other up and down.  Sylvanas stepped alongside Varian and nodded at the High Overlord as he gave her a somewhat distracted salute.   He closed his mouth, cleared his throat loudly, and shook his head.

“I heard you died.”

“So did I.”  Varian’s eyes gleamed.  “But things change.”

The big Orc grunted and wiped one hand across his nose.  “They certainly have been lately.”   He smiled, eyes narrowing.  “Your Alliance friends will be surprised.”  The smile widened.  “Especially the first time you take your place against them in battle.  I look forward to seeing it.”

Varian’s eyelids slid lower and his smile was almost savage.  “I’d hate to disappoint you, High Overlord.  I probably will, though.”  The pale lips twisted upwards in a Varian-like smile.  “Still, if you want to see me in battle, we could always…spar..”

Varok positively grinned at the idea, and reached out to tentatively poke Varian’s shoulder with one big digit.  “I’d enjoy that.”

“Alright you two,” Sylvanas said finally, not unpleased.  “If the male posturing is done, might we get down to business?”

They retired into the Hold where map tables were set around the centre of the largest room.  There was one for Kalimdor, another for the Eastern continent and a third for the Broken Isles.  Green markers indicated the various invasion sites, and there were far more of them than previously.  Varian picked up the green marker that rested over Sentinel Hill, only inches away on the map from Stormwind.  “Have they reached the city?” he asked, and he couldn’t keep the concern from his tone.

“No, not that we know of” Varok said, “the Alliance seems to be putting up a good fight.  And they haven’t broken through into Orgrimmar either, though their demons have come right up against the city’s rear gate.  So far our forces have kept them out.”

Varian replaced the token and studied the various attack points.  “It’s an odd battle plan, very scattered”

The Orc commander grunted.  “Stupidly so.  Rather than concentrate on one or two points they attack six or more at once.  If they hit, say, Orgrimmar, with all the forces they are using across Kalimdor, we would be hard pressed to keep them out.”

“Perhaps,” Sylvanas theorized, “it is deliberately so.  To have us rushing to numerous points, to interfere with any attempted organisation.”

Both Orc and human nodded.  “This could be so,” Varok responded.  “We are working to send reinforcements to the Broken Isles but these attacks are making that difficult.”

Varian’s behaviour during the session pleased Sylvanas.  He had given his thoughts and opinions and done so in the manner of an experienced commander, but without heat, dispassionately.  His only tense moment was when Varok asked for his opinions on the Alliance leadership.

It was a fair question and she waited for his response.  _Would he lie, prevaricate, choose not to speak?_ Any one might have been expected.  Instead he paused and thought on it and she suspected he was speaking his thoughts on things he’d already considered in the privacy of his mind.

”Who will take my place?  It’s a good question.  It won’t be any of the Dwarven council, the Gnomes or Tyrande, who has never sought any position of power.  Velen is a great leader but would not want to lead the Alliance into such a war.  And my son is too young and inexperienced.  That leaves..”

“The beast,” Varok muttered, scowling.

“…Genn Greymane.”  He lifted his gaze to Sylvanas.  “Of all the leaders of the Alliance, he is the most experienced in war – and the one who hates you the most.”  His finger rested on the map above Gilneas.  “Some would say with good reason.”

Varok’s eyes flared.  “If you speak of atrocities…” He began, and Sylvanas lifted a hand to forestall him.

“We are not.  The past is gone and done with. “  She set her gaze on Varian and he finally looked away and nodded minutely.  “If we are to have a future, if any of us are to survive at all, we must find a way to work together.  If that’s possible.”

Varian picked up the small white castle from the map.  “He may listen to me.  Though I can’t be sure of it.  He’s a hard man, embittered, but I think he cared for me in some way.  Whether that caring will survive me being Forsaken…I really don’t know.  But I can try, if you wish.”  He placed the Stormwind figure back on the map.  “If you send a message under my hand, we’ll know soon enough.”

After the meeting finalised, they made their way to a dinner organised in Sylvanas’ honour.  It was a typically noisy affair;  Orcs enjoyed eating while making a lot of noise, whether it was belching, shouting or singing, badly.  Varian didn’t seem to mind the noise and he ate some of the food and drink put before him neatly but with some enthusiasm.  She saw traces of his previous self returning to him and was glad of it.  He would never be what he had been, but he could still be more than he was.

After the meal he asked that they stay the night in Orgrimmar.  “I’ve only been here once before,” he said, as he walked, a little unsteadily, from the dining area.  “And that was after the defeat of Garrosh.  And I’d rather like to sleep outside tonight.  Being underground feels too much like a burial.”

She considered it and then nodded.  “Very well.  Select a place to sleep and I’ll assign some of my personal guards to watch over you.  There may still be some…”  She paused, as the clouds parted above her head and the moon appeared, filling the square with white light.  It made a halo of light around Varian’s hair, and his pale skin shone alabaster-bright.  A feeling she’d almost forgotten sparked inside her.

Desire.

“There may still be some who might wish to hurt you, even now,” she finished.  “But I know somewhere we can go where you can lie under the moon and know some peace.”  She held out her hand and he took it with an uncertainty that charmed her.  “Come visit Aessina with me.  It isn’t far at all.”

He followed her to where the flying mounts were quartered and they rode through the night up the mountainside of Mount Hyjal and down into the forest.  Aessina’s Grove was aglow with floating Wisps and dryads watched them from behind berry bushes, before turning and leaping into the forest with a flash of tail and hoof. 

Her Royal Guard melted into the trees  as Sylvanas walked to the moonpool, shedding her clothing as she walked.  She stepped naked into the glowing pool and lay down, dipping her head beneath the surface and coming up, throwing her head back to send a silver spray of water droplets into the air behind her head.  When she felt clean she stepped out and walked across to where Varian lay, watching her with something like a bright wonder in his eyes.

She lay next to him and, one by one, layer by layer, revealed his body.  He didn’t try to help her, just watched her, with one hand set upon her hip.  And when she slid on top of him and joined herself to him, he did help her then;  helped her to remember what they’d both lost, and unexpectedly found again in each other’s touch.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> artwork by the author

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=No6jHwe0QoQ
> 
> If you'd like to hear Sylvanas singing the Lament for the Highborn.


End file.
